


the first step back

by tciddaemina



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Quirrel Introspection, Quirrel POV, Strangers to Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 11:48:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20527547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tciddaemina/pseuds/tciddaemina
Summary: Quirrel meets a stranger on the road.





	the first step back

He heard the padding of footsteps long before the figure stepped up beside him, but didn't draw his nail, eyes tracing the graceful lines of the Black Egg. An alter perhaps, or a tomb? Vast and beautiful whatever it was, but abandoned. Why? There was something in the air down here - a familiarity to it that manifested itself in the cold touch of moisture against his shell and the slight chill that burned his mouth on every in-breath. Eerie, but all the more intriguing for it. 

Quirrel finally pulled his eyes away, turning to the stranger lurking by the door and found himself startled by the size of him. What a small fellow. Quirrel would be surprised if his horns reached his shoulder. "Greetings." Quirrel said warmly. "A curious place to meet a stranger, is it not? But I suppose Hallownest is a strange place." The stranger didn't reply, and Quirrel found himself turning to the Egg once more. There was something about it that drew the eye, a sort of odd energy to it that resonated against the shell, like the faint and distant thrum of a bell once rung, the final echoing vibration singing their last song against his spine.

It was perhaps incautious to turn his back to the stranger, but Quirrel had a knack for judging characters and the stranger didn't feel hostile. He stared up at the Egg, the strange impressions in the stone, almost like faces. "It's beautiful, don't you think? The amount of work that must have gone into the stonework to create such a space, and yet utterly nameless. Whatever god or being they enshrine here, whoever made it was happy for them to be forgotten."

Quiet footsteps carried the stranger closer and Quirrel glanced down as they stopped by his side. The stranger stared up at the Egg silently, eyes dark and empty, and Quirrel forced himself to shake off the odd shiver that ran down his spine. "Are you from the town above? A bleak place I must say, but charming in its own way."

The stranger turned their head, staring at Quirrel for a long moment, then shook their head once, turning their gaze back up to the Egg.

"A traveler then!" Quirrel replied, more warmly. He could respect any creature that made a life on the road, braving danger for the chance of new sights, new adventures. This traveler was an odd creature, of that there was no doubt. Quirrel couldn't even make out a single piece of shell through their ragged cloak, but then the stranger was very small. Perhaps they were simply the spindly sort. Bugs come in all manner of shapes and sizes, some more strange than others to the ignorant eye. 

There was still no reply from the other bug, and Quirrel resigned himself to silence, not dejected in the least. He turned his eyes back up to the Egg, watching the slow trickle of water trace its way down the face of the alter with the traveler standing quietly at his side; two strangers in a forgotten kingdom, caught in a quiet moment of reflection.

Quirrel didn't know how long they stood there. The temple was timeless, the stone new, clean, and yet abandoned to the ravages of time. The outside world did not touch it - still and silent save for the quiet drip of water.

Even odd as they were, the stranger was inoffensive. They didn't fidget or shuffle their feet, didn't disrupt the solemn calm of the temple. Quirrel might almost say they were good company, save for the fact he risked forgetting they were even there.

He doesn't know what it was that finally made him move. Perhaps it was the faint stirrings of hunger in his belly, or the pervasive chill to the air. Or perhaps the odd intensity of the Black Egg had finally gotten to him, the hum beneath his shell evolving into an uncomfortable itch when his eyes strayed back to those carved faces one time too many. The sight of them clouds his mind in a way that is distinctly uncomfortable, and the longer he stares the more he feels drawn by some unknowable feeling, strangely familiar and all the more disconcerting for it. Whatever it was that prompted him to motion, Quirrel turned his back on the Black Egg, pausing as his eyed dropped to the stranger.

"I plan to spend the night outside the temple." Quirrel began, extending the invitation before he could finish thinking through why. Then again, what was there to think about? Quirrel had always enjoyed company, and this small fellow was mystery in his own right. "It's not much, but I have some crawlid if you'd like to break your fast."

For a long moment Quirrel waited, but the stranger just stared at him. Finally Quirrel sighed, resigning himself to dining alone, and turned towards the door. The soft shuttle of feet behind him drew him up short, and he turned to find the stranger following him. Quirrel chuckled, bemused despite himself, and left the temple with the small fellow in tow.

The stranger watched Quirrel unerringly as he set up a fire and roasted the crawlid, head tracking him back and forth as he shifted around the camp. It would be unnerving, Quirrel thought, if he were the sort of person to get easily unnerved. But if he were then he wouldn't be travelling through Hallownest then would he? He leaned back, watching the walls. The firelight cast the fossils in a flickering glow, dozens upon dozens of coiled shells sharing down from the walls, some as large as stagbeetles, others the size of Quirrel's fist, each and every one of them gleaming a dull blue, holding some of their shell's iridescence even after how many centuries. Magnificent, but tragic. "Do you ever wonder how many there are? How many people must have died to make the stone caverns we now walk through with so little care?" Quirrel asked, not expecting an answer. He spoke to give his thoughts voice, company or no company. Perhaps he ought to keep a journal, but he'd found far too many of those in the shriveled hands of less fortunate travelers to ever feel comfortable with the idea.

"Sometimes it feels like history is just repeating itself." Quirrel continued conversationally as he drew the crawlid off the end of his nail and started prying apart its shell, the blackened chitin hot enough to singe his fingers then they lingered too long. "I'd heard stories about Hallownest before. Everyone seems to have a different tale for why it collapsed - a plague, famine, a curse from the gods. The only thing they agree on is that half a century ago Hallownest was a bustling kingdom, a center of art and commerce, and a little while later everyone was dead. Some say it took days, others months, but it happened. Twice now the land has seen the devastation of its people. I wonder how long it will be until our shells become like the ones on the wall, the very name of Hallownest lost to history."

There was a crack from the fire, enough to startle Quirrel from his thoughts. He shook himself, glancing back at his companion to find him staring at Quirrel intently, head tilted every so slightly to the side, almost curious looking. "My apologies." Quirrel said quickly. "Perhaps the Black Egg put me in a stranger mood than I thought. I'm not usually so morbid."

Quirrel hurried to hand the stranger a piece of crawlid. They accepted it with a quiet nod, inclining their head gratefully, but their eyes didn't leave his face. Quirrel busied himself with his own dinner, hungry now that he no longer had the wonders of the Black Egg to distract him. It was a meager dinner, barely worth the name in any proper town, but you made do with what you could get on the road and it wasn't the worst thing Quirrel had eaten. Bitter and tough, but the tangy metallic aftertaste of the infection was almost ignorable in comparison. The stranger accepted it without complaint, holding it in his hands for a long moment, just staring at the (only-slightly!) charred meat, before tucking his hand back into his cloak, meat and all. 

Quirrel blinked, bemused, and made a curious noise when the stranger's hand appears again, not a single trace of the crawlid remaining. Distinctly odd dining behavior, but not the strangest thing about him. "You know." Quirrel said, seeking a new topic of conversation. "You're not the first bug I've met who preferred not to speak. The other woman, charming bug, really very friendly, used hand-signs. I picked up a few of them travelling with her, I don't suppose you know them? No?"

The other bug just stared at him, almost severely Quirrel might say, but then what did he know? The little fellow's face showed no inflection at all, utterly blank, and if Quirrel didn't know better he'd almost say he was wearing a mask.

"Then again." Quirrel said eventually, letting the silence carry between them. "In so many places the talk never ends, so many people shouting to be heard above the din. The noise of the city can be invigorating, but there is nothing quite like the peace of the road. There's something to be said for the quiet."

There was no reply. He wondered what sort of fool it took to keep doing the same thing and expect a different result, and sighed, bemused at his own folly. "Feel free to stay the night. Or not." Quirrel said, leaning against the iron leg of the bench and setting his nail across his lap. He shuffled, shifting until the edge of the seat no longer pinched the joint of his shell and let his head fall forward, hat clinking quietly against the arm of the bench.

The last thing he thought about as he drifted off was the face in the stone, empty eyes staring back at him from the dark expanse of the Black Egg, the low crackle of the fire distant in his ears. His hand tightened around his nail, and he slept.

Quirrel slept very lightly, the habit of a veteran traveler, but he didn't wake a single time over the course of the night, the fire long burning out before his companion made a single noise to disturb the silence. Quirrel opened his eyes to find them sitting on the bench, utterly motionless, watching over the approach. He hadn't heard them move, hadn't felt them settle so close, and not for the first time Quirrel wondered what sort of strange creature it was that he'd just made the acquaintance of. 

The traveler stood when they noticed Quirrel wake, hopping down from the bench. They glanced at Quirrel for a brief moment, almost seeming to incline their head, and then they were off, disappearing down the path and vanishing into the gloom. Quirrel stared after them for a long moment, a tiny form vanishing into the shadows, and then shook his head, leaning back against the bench more firmly.

Quirrel hadn't seen them close their eyes for even a second over the course of the night, and yet they'd stayed by his side for hours, guarding his sleep until he woke to take up his own nail once more.

"Strangely kind." Quirrel decided finally, wishing the stranger safe travels.


End file.
